Now darkness comes to the weed,
for he knows not what to do.
(if you want to know about this seed,
read post 2172)

Many hate this little weed,
and shoo him away.
Yet many do his warnings heed,
for they are not astray.

For one thing this weed does lack,
is friendship, he does need.
While roses, stained all in black,
sing curses to this weed.

Now one rose stands out the best,
his color black is true.
He scolds and punoshes the roses rest,
and asks the weed, "what did they do?"

The other roses now conspire,
and talk about their plight.
As they talk they lose their attire,
and are now the purest white!

The little weed glances back once more,
and thinks as he supposes,
what the others have in store,
for now, cleverly painted are those roses.

Penned by my hand on the 13th of Lupar, in the year 224 AF.